Services Rendered
by newbie93
Summary: Much to her dismay, Jemma Simmons has gone nearly a year without partaking in a certain activity. After a bottle of wine and a late night at work, she complains to her best friend and details all the ways in which her recent lack of sex is really screwing her over. AKA a prequel to "In Desperate Need of Some Service."


**_This is a prequel to my earlier story, "In Desperate Need of Some Service." It's basically just the moment in which FitzSimmons became friends-with-benefits. Notapepper convinced me to write this so you can blame her for the utter absurdity that is this fic._**

Jemma takes another swig of the near-empty bottle of wine perched next to her on the counter and glances over at where Fitz is sitting across from her, hands fiddling with one of his nameless pocket-devices and ears a startling shade of red. He'd had about half the wine she'd had, but his cheeks had grown increasingly pink with each sip until he'd finally waved her off the last time she'd proffered the drink, leaving her having to finish it by herself.

 _Pity._

She doesn't mind all that much. The wine is one that she'd likely never find a reason to spend the money on, far outside of her usual price range, and she's reveling in the chance to treat herself to something of such high quality. The fact that someone _else_ had purchased it tonight and had simply chosen not to finish it was more than all right with Jemma.

It was a bit surprising when May had handed it to her with a wink and a borderline blessing to drink on the job, but Jemma had a feeling that the manager had simply felt bad that she and Fitz had gotten roped into doing inventory and closing for the night.

The reminder of May's _almost_ pitying gaze when she'd bid the two of them goodnight reminds Jemma of where she is and what she's doing.

She laments the fact that she's sitting in a storeroom on a Friday evening and wonders what she'd be doing if her life were anywhere close to that of most other women her age. The possibilities are truly endless, and Jemma assumes that those lucky women not buried in research and work were likely treating tonight as an opportunity to get absolutely hammered… in more ways than one.

While Jemma is well on her way to being hammered in the intoxicated sense, thanks to the now almost empty bottle in her hands, the mental image of leaving a dark club on the arm of a tall, dark, and handsome man with the intention of tumbling into bed and being hammered… _nailed_ rather… causes a wistful sigh to escape past her lips before she has a chance to reign it in.

Evidently it's not even much of a _quiet_ sigh because Fitz's eyes snaps up in her direction and he quirks his head at her with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

Jemma's eyes widen slightly at the question because, really, how can she actually tell Fitz about what's causing her to sigh so pathetically? How does one actually go about telling their best friend about the mental thoughts and images that are playing on a constant loop in her brain?

 _Well Fitz, I've reached a point where I can't seem to go one minute without thinking about the fact that I haven't had sex in ages, and am now at a moment in my life where I'm hornier than a pre-pubescent male who's just seen boobs for the first time._

 _Absolutely not. Better stick to strict denial._

"What, what?"

Jemma tilts her head and gives Fitz what she _hopes_ is a believable look of confusion. Evidently she's still terrible at lying because now _Fitz_ is giving her a confused look as he stares at her with the piercing eyes whose color Jemma has never quite been able to categorize.

"You just sighed."

 _Deny, deny, deny._

"No I didn't."

Fitz rolls his eyes at this and crosses his arms over his chest as he looks at her across the small aisle that is separating them. He gives her a look that makes it abundantly clear that he's not buying her pathetic attempt at a lie and she knows that she's caught.

" _Jemma._ "

Fitz has an uncanny ability to use her name as an entire sentence and Jemma sighs _again_ at the realization that she's not getting out of this one.

"Oh alright… I was just… I was just thinking about things I'd rather be doing right now."

 _More like_ _ **people**_ _I'd rather be doing._

"Oh… Like watching Netflix or curling up with a good book?"

Fitz shoots her a small smile, nodding his head in understanding, and Jemma almost bursts out laughing at his innocent take on what people should be doing on Friday evenings. She arches a brow in his direction and wrinkles her nose with a small grin, shaking her head at her friend's woefully inaccurate assumption of what's on her, "Rather Be Doing," list at present.

"I was _actually_ thinking more along the lines of things to do that might involve _two_ people."

Fitz's eyes widen for a moment as he processes her words before he ducks his head down, nodding so imperceptivity that Jemma wonders if it was a nod at all. She thinks she hears a small sigh leave his own mouth but in the next moment he's lifting his head and giving her a look that Jemma swears actually looks a bit… wistfully despondent. She's not sure what _that's_ about, and opens her mouth to ask her friend if he's alright, but in the next moment Fitz is speaking up and bringing her back to the subject.

"Ah yes… _two_ people. I get it."

Watching things click in her friend's brain causes Jemma to find herself overcome with an odd sense of relief. She's been bottling up her emotions, among other things, for a while now and the opportunity to actually vocalize her her _frustration_ is one that Jemma is eager to take advantage of. She begins to fidget slightly and with each passing second she feels herself getting more worked up until the words begin to pour out of her.

"I spend every second here or working on that blasted PhD and am too utterly knackered to spend what little free time I _do_ have putting in the effort to find a suitable romantic partner."

Fitz hums at this, nodding thoughtfully as he seems to ruminate over her words. He lifts his head and stares at her with the understanding expression that seems to constantly be on his face whenever they're together. Jemma briefly thinks about the fact that Fitz is really the _only_ one she knows who seems to be able to keep up with, and actually _comprehend,_ her many tangents, and internally grins at the fact that tonight is no different.

The mental grin falters slightly when he speaks up and it becomes clear to Jemma that, for the first time perhaps ever, Fitz hadn't _fully_ understood what she'd said.

"Yes I suppose our schedules don't really provide ample enough time to spend with someone to know whether or not they're worth dating."

Jemma scoffs at this, rolling her eyes as she takes another swig of wine, and doesn't hold back in telling Fitz that something had clearly been lost in translation.

" _Dating?_ I couldn't care less about dating Fitz. I am _not_ at a point in my life where I need a boyfriend to text me constantly and buy me expensive dinners."

She shivers again slightly at the thought of having to fit a _boyfriend_ into her already jam-packed schedule, and yanks the bowtie that she'd loosened earlier off her neck, tossing it to the side and sighing gratefully at the extra bit of air that she can now get in her windpipe.

Fitz watches the arc of the small strip black fabric until it hits the ground before turning his gaze back to her and tilting his head in slight confusion.

"But you _just_ said you wanted to find a suitable romantic partner."

The quizzical look he shoots her is so endearing that Jemma almost hops off the counter to affectionately tousle his hair. _Instead_ , she finishes the remaining dregs of the alcohol the wine bottle and slides off the counter so that she can put her hands on her hips and level her best friend with what is likely a patronizing stare.

"Not romantic as in _boyfriend,_ romantic as in _sex,_ Fitz _._ I meant it'd be nice to find a _physical_ partner."

Fitz's eyes widen instantly and he immediately straightens where he's seated, nearly toppling off the countertop in the process. His cheeks are redder than they'd been all night, a feat in itself, and his eyes are blinking rapidly as he takes in Jemma's far more blunt allusion to what's currently missing from her life.

"Oh… _oh!_ Got it."

Jemma almost sighs in relief now that Fitz is _finally_ on the same page as her and she feels herself begin to internally jump for joy at the fact that she now has someone to _truly_ talk to. She wonders briefly if she should slowly work her way to the root of the problem so as not to immediately cause awkwardness, but then Jemma remembers how long it's taken her friend to reach _this_ point and instead decides that tonight is a night for direct approaches.

"Do you have _any_ idea how long it's been since I've had sex Fitz?"

His eyes widen at the question and Jemma's roll back as she takes in his borderline horrified expression. He shifts slightly, mouth opening and closing a few times before he actually manages to speak.

"I mean… I don't… I don't exactly keep track of that stu…"

Jemma cuts him off before he can finish his sentence and begins pacing down the small space of the storeroom as she becomes increasingly riled up. "It's been since _Dave,_ Fitz. Dave whom I broke up with nearly eight bloody months ago."

"Oh… yeah. That's… is that a long time?"

She shoots him a stunned expression that clearly states that, _yes Fitz, eight months is a long time for Jemma Simmons not to get some._ His eyes widen once more at her silent answer to his absurd question and he begins to nod his head vigorously in what Jemma is certain is his attempt at preventing her from going off on a vocal tangent that details how long eight months really is.

"Right okay… long time."

She sighs again at the reminder as she tugs her hair free from its bun and carefully removes the pins before running her hands through it and shaking it loose. Fitz stares at her with his mouth open throughout and Jemma rolls her eyes slightly at the stupor that her hair routine has left him in. For one reason or another he always seems stunned by the quick transition from elegant bun to informal waves and Jemma can't quite figure out _why._

 _Honestly, how many times does she have to explain how hair pins work before he'll stop looking at her as though she's pulled a magic wand out of her head?_

She knows the small pins work wonders, but considering how Fitz's eyes widen every time she takes them out to free her hair, Jemma thinks he might be viewing them in too high a regard. She shakes her head again to loosen the few strands of hair that are still clumped together before turning to her friend and getting back on topic.

"It's not like it'd be _hard_ for me to find someone to take home, usually all it takes is an hour in an overpriced club before some bloke is asking to go somewhere more private, but I just don't have the _time_ for it Fitz."

His eyebrows raise with each word she says before furrowing slightly as he mutters, "From what I hear you don't actually _need_ much time," under his breath.

Jemma lets out an indignant huff at this and opens her mouth to argue before realizing that nothing he'd said was really something she _could_ argue.

"Yes well, I'm a nubile young prodigy with an above average fashion sense. Of _course_ I don't need much time. But that's not the point! The point is, what time I _do_ have is much better spent catching up on sleep, or work, or _research._ I don't have time for my usual vetting process."

"Your _what?!_ "

Fitz's mouth drops open in astonishment and Jemma parries his look of shock with a glare. "Oh _honestly_ Fitz. I'm not going to go home with just _anyone_ that approaches me! Quick screw or no, I _do_ have standards."

His eyebrows raise again at this but Jemma can see the curiosity hidden beneath his outwardly scandalized expression. Sure enough, after a few seconds of feigned astonishment, Fitz tilts his head to the side and gives her an expectant look that all but demands she explain said standards. She decides that there's no harm in sharing them so she sucks in a breath before launching into the system she's carefully put in place to ensure no repeats of the sex-fiasco of 2010.

"Well-formed and symmetrical is preferable though not required. Some modicum of intelligence _is_ required, at least enough that I won't have to worry about needing to adjust my standard vocabulary so as not to confuse them. I learned the hard way that that _really_ slows things down… quite the mood killer really. Finally, though age has never particularly been an issue… I do prefer men who are relatively close in age to myself. I'm not sure why really, it just is what it is I suppose. A personal preference."

She stops talking and gives a small shrug as she watches her friend process the few boxes that she tends to tick when searching for a suitable sexual partner. Jemma has never considered herself to be overtly picky, but each experience has aided in narrowing down her preferences for the ideal lover, who can match her in intellect as well as physical prowess.

"Yes I suppose a vetting process could make things a bit more time consuming. Couldn't… I mean… that is to say… aren't… umm… aren't there _other_ options for that… that kind of stuff?"

Jemma's eyes widen at Fitz's question and she has to stifle a laugh as she takes in his bright red face and downcast eyes. He's refusing to look at her and Jemma is again struck with an urge to close the distance between them and pat her friend on the head. Instead, she contemplates what he's alluded to and finds herself even _more_ frustrated by the topic of conversation than before.

"Well of _course_ there are! But that's not the point Fitz. The point is, I haven't had sex in eight months and I'm beginning to think I'm growing less productive each passing day."

Fitz's mouth opens slightly at this before he rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively in her direction. "Oh c'mon Jemma, that's absurd."

Her instinctual need to argue with him causes her to face him with incredulity as she places her hands on her hips and begins her counterattack.

" _Is it?!_ Sex is proven to have positive effects on most aspects of life, Fitz. People are often more productive, alert, focused, and satisfied after _being_ satisfied. And, considering _I_ haven't been satisfied in nearly a year… I'm probably deteriorating intellectually as a result."

Fitz's eyes roll again as he looks at her patronizingly with a, "Jemma that's the dumbest thing you've ever said."

Her hands are in the air before he's finished speaking and her voice comes out an octave higher than normal as she speaks again. "Well you've just proven my point then haven't you?! A non-sexually frustrated Jemma would likely have never said something so absurd."

Fitz groans at this rebuttal and shakes his head ruefully as he gives her a look that actually _does_ make Jemma feel a bit like an idiot. She'll blame her ridiculousness on the wine later but, at present, the best course of action is likely just to _shift_ course and bring the conversation back to Fitz's original stammered question.

"And sure, I'm a modern woman as well as a _biologist,_ meaning that I have a wide range of knowledge on how to pleasure _myself…_ but it's really just not the _same_ Fitz."

She sees in her peripheral vision how his cheeks seem to redden once more, but at this point her audible complaining is too cathartic to stop.

"Sometimes you just _need_ another person…"

" _Got it."_

"…keep things surprising…"

"Seriously I get it _…"_

"…know where _my_ fingers are headed next…"

"Please stop _."_

"...who _knows_ what my sexual partner will do with _their_ hands…"

"Jem..."

"…really just keeps things interesting. Surprise is a key element to pleasure, Fitz. I find that that I'm the most satisfied when I can't fully predict what a lover will do next…"

"Jemma.. _._ "

"…I _miss_ it…"

" _Jemma._ "

"…and let's just say, it's been awhile and I'm in _desperate_ need of some service."

The wistful sigh barely escapes past her lips before Fitz is suddenly in front of her and pressing his mouth to hers in a heated kiss that, for one reason or another, Jemma is quick to reciprocate. For the briefest of moments she contemplates the utter absurdity of the situation, this is _Fitz_ who's kissing her after all, but the thought leaves her mind the second Fitz's tongue swipes across her lips and begins to tangle with her own.

Her hands are suddenly in his hair and she feels _his_ grip her waist as he tugs her flush against him. She can't stop the groan that leaves her at the feeling of his chest pressed tightly against hers and finds that she doesn't really _want_ to stop it. Because _her_ groan causes _Fitz_ to groan and Jemma finds that the sound of his rumbling throat causes a zing of pleasant heat to work its way through her body.

A small part of her is stunned by the absolute fervor with which Fitz is kissing her, but a _much_ larger part is appreciating the way his tongue is mapping her mouth and his hands are mapping her body. He nips at her lip, tugging it with his teeth in a way that makes Jemma moan and in the next second she's tugging at the small buttons of Fitz's uniform while his hands begin to divest her of her own.

Their respective vests are off before Jemma can truly process the fact that she's stripping _Fitz_ of his clothing, and her mouth is on his throat as she begins to work at the maddening bowtie that is still wrapped snugly beneath the collar of his shirt.

She tugs the small strip of fabric free just as Fitz grabs her chin in his hand and crashes his lips back to hers as he presses her into the countertop that he'd recently vacated. The feeling of the hard counter behind her is _nothing_ compared to the _other_ hardness that she feels pressing maddeningly close to her pelvis, and Jemma feels her breath hitch as Fitz's hands gradually move from her face to her waist, following the trajectory of her body in a slow tease that makes her want to scream.

She feels his hands tug her shirt out of her skirt and is about to help him speed up the process when his lips shift slightly and Jemma finds herself wholly distracted by the pleasure that this new angle of kissing provides.

She's so focused on the way his tongue is dueling with her own that Jemma doesn't notice what his hands are up to until she feels them hot against her stomach and realizes that his lips had distracted her to the point where she hadn't even noticed Fitz unbuttoning her shirt.

She _definitely_ notices now that his hands are burning a trail across her abdomen, fingers tracing her ribs before continuing along their upward path and kneading her breasts in a way that causes her to instantly arch into him.

Her breaths are coming in short gasps now and Fitz seems to understand her need for air because his lips begin to slowly descend from her mouth, dipping along the tight column of her throat, until they stop at her chest and begin to tease maddeningly against the skin above her heart.

Jemma's fingers instinctually tighten in Fitz's hair, holding his head in place as his hands move from her breasts and push her blouse off her shoulders until it falls in a graceless heap on the ground. She whimpers slightly at the loss of Fitz's sinfully adept fingers from her chest but promptly decides that she'd much rather have _her_ fingers on _his_ chest.

He's still far more clothed than Jemma wants him to be, so she quickly tugs his mouth back to hers as her hands move to his shirt and begin to expertly undo the buttons. When she finally reaches the bottom of the shirt, she all but rips it from where it's neatly tucked in his trousers before pushing it off him completely and _finally_ getting her hands on him.

Her fingers flatten against Fitz's chest, running down his torso and catching each rib before they shift their trajectory and grapple at the muscled shoulders that Jemma never really knew he had.

His own hands wrap around her body until his fingers catch on her bra clasp and Jemma nods eagerly into Fitz's mouth as he taps at the fabric in what she knows is a silent question. Their, "psychic link," seems to be in full effect tonight, because Fitz understands her answer just as well as Jemma understood his question and his fingers are quickly undoing the clasp.

Jemma feels the fabric loosen and pulls her hands away from Fitz's body just long enough to let her bra join her shirt on the floor. The second the fabric hits the ground, her hands are back in Fitz's hair as she tugs him closer to her and nips at his lips, gasping against his mouth when their bare chests meet.

Fitz seems just as affected by the skin-on-skin contact based on the way his erection is now pressing against her hip and his low moan is vibrating through his throat. Jemma takes advantage of his clear arousal by moving one hand to grasp him through his trousers, delighting in the way he gasps against her lips before burrowing his face into the crook of her neck.

" _Jemma."_

She's not ready for the jolt of pleasure that _her_ name coming out of _Fitz's_ mouth like _that_ causes, and bites her lip to stifle the moan that is threatening to escape. Her hand tightens against him and only tightens more when Fitz's fingers move upward to palm her breast. His thumb glides over it with a practiced experience that Jemma will question later and appreciate now.

She gasps in his ear when his fingers pinch at her hardened nipple and shuts her eyes against the pure pleasure that her best friend is causing. While his hand is busy with her chest, hers are busy undoing the button to his trousers and tugging at the zipper until she has room to reach below the elastic of his boxers and actually get a hand on him.

He jolts forward at the contact and Jemma grins in triumph at the whine that escapes his lips when her fingers lightly trace over him before pulling away entirely. Fitz pulls his head back slightly and blinks sluggishly at her in confusion before his eyes widen in understanding as her hands move to unzip her skirt and let it fall off her legs.

Fitz hastily mirrors her movements, shucking off his trousers and kicking them away at the same time she does hers. They move back together in unison, lips fusing together as their chests press closer and their hands roam over each other in a frantic desperation. Fitz hands bypass her chest completely, something Jemma is initially disappointed by until they clutch at her bottom and she realize where it is that Fitz plans on going with this.

His grip tightens and Jemma is ready as Fitz hoists her up, hands gripping her bottom with a strength that Jemma didn't know he had. She doesn't hesitate to wrap her legs around him as he begins to move across the small room heading who knows where. She's too busy focusing on the way his tongue is laving at her pulse point to process where they're heading, but when her back makes contact with the freezer and the solid surface pushes her further into Fitz, Jemma lets out a moan and shifts against her friend in a bid to get a better feel for the hard outline that is now straining against his boxers.

She finds that she quite likes the feeling of being trapped between Fitz and the door behind her because it means that he's pressed flush against her, nearly every inch of their skin in contact. Their lips are moving in synchrony and the ember of heat that Fitz had stoked with that first kiss feels like a raging inferno now that his hands are moving from her butt to tease maddeningly against her thigh.

She doesn't even _try_ to stop the startled gasp that leaves her mouth when she feels Fitz's fingers dip beneath her panties and glide along her before moving back to grip her butt. Her hands tighten where they're wrapped in his hair and she bucks against him, desperately seeking the pressure that he'd briefly teased her with.

Jemma can feel the way he smiles against her lips before he pulls away and latches his mouth back to her throat as her hips cant against his of their own volition. The breathy whimpers that are leaving her own mouth are the only real noises in the small room, and Jemma finds that such a thing is unacceptable.

She realizes that Fitz, as has always been the case, thoroughly enjoys teasing her, and will continue to do so until he's too distracted to continue.

The whole, "it's been _eight_ months," thing is a strong enough motivator for Jemma to bring out the big guns in an attempt to speed things along. The angle isn't quite right, but she still manages to snake her hand beneath Fitz's boxers and grip him tightly as she shifts her head so that _she_ is now sucking and nipping at _his_ neck.

As is expected, the combined assault causes Fitz to release a low groan and simultaneously buck against her in a bid to feel _more._ Jemma's happy to appease, twisting her hand in a manner that causes Fitz to gasp in her ear and press her harder against the door behind her. She gives him one last stroke before extracting her hand from his boxers, grinning in triumph at the pitiful whine Fitz releases, and whispering, "Off," breathily into his ear.

Fitz is a quick learner, always has been, and removes his hands from her butt long enough to push at the waistband of his boxers until they're far enough down his legs to fall to the floor without any additional assistance. His hands are back on her in no time and, as he steps out of the discarded fabric and kicks them away, he shifts and unintentionally hits a spot that causes Jemma's head to fall back and thump against the door behind her. He shifts _again,_ hitting the same spot that is causing the soft moans to leave her mouth, and Jemma _knows_ that this time it's deliberate.

She unwraps her legs from Fitz, biting his neck in a silent command, and waits until he's lowered her to the floor before ridding herself of her own underwear and slamming her lips back to his. His palms are on her butt again, kneading the flesh as he presses into her, and Jemma decides that their previous position might be far more conducive for what she has planned.

She jumps up, wrapping her legs back around Fitz, and silently cheers at the ease with which he catches and supports her.

There are no barriers between them now and Jemma revels in the feeling of the cool freezer at her back and Fitz's overheated skin at her front. Her lips are molded against his, arms wrapped possessively across his shoulders, and Jemma wriggles slightly in his hold until a fresh jolt of pleasure shoots through her.

She's slightly embarrassed by the keening noise that leaves her throat as Fitz's cock brushes against her, but Jemma reasons that it's been _so_ long since she's felt anything other than her own deft fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves, that her desperation is perfectly acceptable. Fitz is teasing against her folds now and Jemma's breaths come in heavy pants as she realizes that, after eight months, she's _finally_ going to have sex again. The thought alone could make her moan, but the thought coupled with the fact that the tip of Fitz's cock is now lined with her entrance causes her to release a noise that would be far better suited for a porno.

Said noise quickly transforms into a whimper when Fitz suddenly pulls away from her and Jemma feels as though she might actually implode at the loss of contact.

Fitz seems just as disappointed by the distance he's put between them because he groans in displeasure before rasping, " _Condom_ ," against her throat.

Jemma appreciates his forethought, truly she does, but the fact that it's unnecessarily delayed their _union_ is more frustrating than it would be had he not gotten her so wound up already. She shifts slightly so that he brushes against her again and moans at the sensation before tilting her head forward and kissing him as she groans, " _Pill,_ " against his lips.

Fitz all but growls as the word leaves her mouth and Jemma grips him tightly as he immediately shifts slightly and once again lines himself up with her. He pauses for another agonizing moment and Jemma nips at his throat in an attempt to speed things along. She also wriggles _just so_ in his grasp so that he slips in slightly and causes both of them to gasp at the teasing sensation of pleasure that will no doubt pale in comparison to what is to come.

Fitz's hands tighten once more before he thrusts into her and hits every spot that Jemma has been desperate to reach during late nights alone in bed. Her body's reaction is immediate as waves of pleasure begin to course through her and Jemma all but sinks her teeth into the juncture between Fitz's neck and shoulder to keep from crying out at the sensation of fullness.

She can both feel and hear the grunt that escapes him and wonders if the noise is the result of her biting his neck or the exertion required to keep her pinned against the freezer door. He stills once he's as deep as he can go and Jemma clutches at his back as the sound of their heavy breathing overtakes the small room.

His head is buried in the crook of her neck while hers is thrown back against the freezer and Jemma wonders why that first thrust has yet to be followed by any more. She tightens her legs where they're wrapped around Fitz's waist, canting her hips forward and gasping sharply as the small move causes him to rub deliciously against her clit and causes another fission of pleasure to shoot through her.

Fitz groans again at her movement, hands tightening on her bottom, and pulls back slightly to look at her with the smoldering blue eyes that she _still_ can't classify. She sees something in them now, some sort of hesitant uncertainty, and Jemma suddenly realizes that Fitz's stillness is because of _her._ He's waiting for her cue, for some further indication that she _wants_ this, and Jemma doesn't hesitate to give him one.

She slams her lips against his and uses her tongue to give him the explicit permission that he's seeking. When she pulls away, she moans against his lips and tightens her legs once more as she digs her nails into his shoulders, hoping with everything she has that Fitz will understand her attempt at _showing_ rather than _telling_ him how much she truly does want this.

" _Fitz._ "

She gasps his name and apparently the one syllable word is all her best friend needs as confirmation that _this is happening,_ because within a second of it leaving her mouth, Fitz is moving and Jemma is quickly fading into oblivion.

He pistons into her and the force with which his hips move against hers is just as stunning as the way his tongue is tracing the tendons in her neck. Jemma feels as though she's experiencing a sensory overload as her mind individually catalogs each of the things that Fitz is doing to her.

She can feel each of his individual teeth as they nip at her throat and _swears_ she can also feel the individual taste buds on his tongue as he laves the sting said teeth leave behind. The following suck his lips give to her neck causes her to clench against him and draw her focus back to the _other_ part of her body that Fitz is ravishing.

They've established an easy rhythm already but easy does _not_ mean gentle.

Each thrust pushes Jemma firmly against the freezer that's supporting her and she already knows that this impromptu rendezvous will leave bruises across her skin.

She doesn't mind in the slightest.

Because bruises tomorrow are well worth the pleasure of today and Fitz is _definitely_ seeing to it that pleasure is what she's experiencing. He moves in her in a way that is far different from her past boyfriends and dalliances, each thrust seemingly calculated and precise as it hits every sweet spot within her. She's equally thrilled and disappointed by Fitz's surprising prowess. Thrilled because from his first slide into her Fitz has made sure she's felt nothing but bliss and satisfaction; and disappointed because Jemma knows that this will end far too soon for her liking.

She's already on the precipice of toppling over the edge and in between each moan and gasp of appreciation, Jemma laments the fact that the best sex she's ever had might also very well be the shortest.

She _knows_ it'll be the shortest when Fitz's lips move from her throat to her chest and begin to suck at her breasts in time with each of his upward thrusts. The dual sensation of his mouth on her breast and his cock sliding into her causes Jemma's eyes to roll backwards as her nails scratch their way along Fitz's back.

She's well aware that she's nearly done for but, based on Fitz's harder and faster thrusts, Jemma is certain that her best friend will quickly follow her when she is pushed over the edge. She moans his name breathily into his ear and tightens her legs as she cants her hips to meet his own and feels the telltale fluttering indicating that it'll all be over soon.

His tongue gives a particularly interesting swirl against her nipple _just_ as he brushes against the most sensitive spot inside her and the combination of sensations is what finally does it.

 _"_ _Fitz!"_

Jemma feels herself clench around him, panting his name into his ear as her hands scrabble at his back in a desperate bid to stay connected as he brings her down from this high. Her legs slacken as her orgasm overtakes her and she has to consciously retighten them around Fitz to prevent herself from falling. The quick loosening and tightening of her legs seems to be the final straw for him because he gives one last forceful thrust as she pants in his ear and comes with a drawn-out groan that Jemma cuts off with a kiss.

When they break away, they're both panting and Jemma can feel the way that Fitz's legs are now trembling. She untangles hers from around his waist and he slowly lowers her until her feet touch the ground. Their heavy breaths are mixing together and Fitz lets his head drop to her shoulder, puffs of hot air hitting her skin with each exhale. After a few moments they both move to the floor in synchrony, neither able to keep themselves upright on their gelatin legs, and all but collapse against the wall as they attempt to steady their breathing.

Jemma takes shallow breaths as her mind process what's just happened and she feels something in her throat clench at the thought that she may have just ruined the best relationship she's ever had. _Fitz_ had been the one to make a move but she'd certainly encouraged him and now, collapsed in a heap on the floor as aftershocks of pleasure course through her, Jemma wonders where they'll go from here.

She prays that this brief lapse in judgment won't serve as the demise of her friendship with Fitz, and silently hopes that they'll be able to move on from this minor incident with minimal repercussions.

After a few minutes of silence, interrupted only by their heavy breathing, Jemma gathers all of her courage and turns where she's seated to face Fitz as she mentally runs through possible things to say that might make this less awkward.

When she catches sight of him, the poorly rehearsed words instantly leave her mind as her eyes flit over his face and body.

 _Dear lord he's attractive._

The thought is a bit startling when directed towards her best friend but, as a completely impartial third-party who thrives on facts, Jemma allows herself to admit it.

Because Fitz _is_ attractive.

His breaths are still coming in quickly and every few seconds he seems to shiver, either from the chilled air or residual pleasure from their recent activities, but aesthetically he is _more_ than adequate to look at. His face is really quite symmetrical, something Jemma's never really noticed until now, and his jawline seems as though it could have been sculpted and chiseled by Michelangelo himself.

His eyes are closed, meaning Jemma can't see the swirling shades of blue beneath his eyelids, but the slight sheen of sweat on his face and chest causes another burst of heat to work its way through her body.

She shakes her head at the fact that she's practically drooling over _Leopold Fitz,_ her best friend in the world and perpetual partner-in-crime, and shifts slightly in an attempt to better view him from a clinical standpoint. The movement seems to catch his attention because his eyes flutter open at the sound and he turns to meet her contemplative stare.

Neither of them speak for a long moment, each cataloging the other as they are prone to do, and just as Jemma is about to begin her speech about mistakes and knowing better, a cocky grin emerges on Fitz's face and the image causes another tremor of pleasure to permeate its way up her body.

"Happy to be of service."

Jemma's mouth falls open at Fitz's words and accompanying boastful expression and she finds herself to be more surprised by the physical reaction the combination has caused rather than the combination itself. There's something unsettlingly sexy about Fitz's cockiness when it comes immediately following mind-blowing sex, and Jemma finds that her previous thoughts of detailing all of the reasons tonight was a _bad idea_ seem pretty insignificant when Fitz's gaze is flitting between her eyes and her chest.

 _Oh screw it._

Jemma decides to ignore her rational self, who's screaming that this entire thing was a _terrible_ idea, and instead shifts her body so that she's straddling the best friend who'd managed to give her the best orgasm of her life in a _restaurant_ _kitchen._ She grins mischievously as Fitz audibly inhales when she brushes against him and leans forward, deliberately pressing herself into his body and ensuring that both of them are being teased pleasurably in equal measure.

Fitz's gaze follows the movement of her head as she slowly inches forward and he groans as she alters course at the last second so that her lips are grazing his earlobe rather than his lips.

"Good… because I'm in need of some more and it's still your shift."

He chuffs out a laugh at this before his hands are suddenly rubbing against her, causing Jemma to collapse forward as she allows herself fall into oblivion with Fitz leading the way.

 _Happy to be of service indeed._


End file.
